He had asked her about her Christian faith once, giving her the leeway despite job regulations to share the Gospel. But he had only said she’d given him a lot to think about.
What if?—
“Victoria Weston?” A middle-aged man with brown hair and a mustache approached Victoria. His brown blazer instead of a police uniform indicated he must be higher ranking than the uniformed officers on the scene. “I’m Detective McCully. I understand you were the one to discover the body?”
The body. He had been Thomas Briscoe only yesterday. Last night. Even hours ago, depending on how long he had?—
“Ma’am?” The detective’s gruff voice drew Victoria back to his decidedly unhappy expression as he looked down at her. “You found the body?” Impatience laced his tone.
“Yes.” She would get to her feet to avoid having him glower down at her, but he stood too close for her to do so gracefully.
“Since this is an unattended death, I need to ask you some questions.”
“Of course. And I’m sure you’ll want the timeline and details of what I saw for your investigation.” She looked at the empty hands he planted on his hips. Shouldn’t he be ready to take notes from her account of what happened?
“Investigation?” His already furrowed brow gained some additional lines.
“Of Mr. Briscoe’s death.”
“We’re not investigating, ma’am. This is an accidental death. We just need to dot the i’s and cross the t’s, and then you can go.”
“Accidental?” Alarm filtered through her, sending a tremor across her shoulders and into her arms.
“A slip and fall.”
“No.” Victoria started to shake her head slowly from side to side. “That can’t be.”
“He was an old man. Happens all the time.”
Victoria stared up at Detective McCully, trying to meet his gaze with a firm one of her own. “I’m a physical therapist, Detective. I understand the risks of age, balance, and limited mobility. And I can assure you he did not slip and fall by the mailbox.”
“I’d believe her, Detective.” The deep voice swung Victoria’s head to the right. Cillian stepped close to her, looking tall, handsome, and strong.
How had she not seen or heard him enter the house? The same way she hadn’t seen the detective or the other officers as she had sunk into grief and deep thought.
But she couldn’t possibly ignore him now, not with the way everything in her wanted to lean toward him. Or even to rise to her feet and sink into his arms, to depend on his strength for a moment. The call of an old habit when she’d been a lost, hurting girl.
“I came as soon as Racquelle told me what happened. Are you okay?” His gaze rested on her, genuine concern reflected in his dark eyes.
“And you are?” Detective McCully’s tone sharpened even more, as if he was annoyed by the interruption.
“He’s a coworker.” Victoria jumped to respond before Cillian. Who knew what shocking answer he might give, especially if he did intend to rekindle a romance.
“Cillian Doherty,” Cillian extended his hand to the detective, “clinical social worker with CareFull Home Health.”
McCully dropped the handshake quickly and returned his attention to Victoria. “I just need to confirm what time you arrived and found the body.”
“Eight fifty-six a.m.” Her mind cycled through the points she could make to show the detective Thomas’s death wasn’t an accident.
“And what did you do when you found the body?”
“I called 9-1-1 and felt for a pulse. There was none. Then I performed CPR, but I believe he was already deceased when I arrived.”
The detective gave a grunt, not confirming or denying her statement. “That’s all I need. You’re free to go.” He sent Cillian a suspicious glance, then turned and stalked away.
“There’s a man who needs to get out more.” Wry humor colored Cillian’s observation.
She stared at the detective’s retreating form. Should she go after him and try to convince him he was wrong about Thomas?
